Spring
by Hashilavalamp
Summary: Hashirama's priorities have always been clear and just once Madara entertains the foolish notion that for the first time in his life he is wrong, that this time, Hashirama doesn't put duty before everything. That Madara is still everything to Hashirama.


**If you're an inexperienced smut-writer clap your hands  
Anyway yo, this little one shot has been in the making for months now and I just now decided to post it. It's honestly my first attempt at smut so yeah man. Yeah. Enjoy!  
(As a little warning though, this is written in 2nd person, from Hashirama's perspective!)  
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* * *

Spring has arrived in the young village. Green leaves and pink flowers decorate the trees once more, the temperatures rise each day and the village seems like it woke up from a deep, long slumber. You smile to yourself; it's as if everything comes to life after winter. You can present the village in its best light to those delegates from the Uzumaki clan. Especially to the cute daughter of the clan head who wanted to see for herself the miracle that is Konoha. Maybe you'll even get to give her a private tour around the village...

You make up various scenarios in your head and think about the things you could say to her, how you could casually invite her for some lunch. You can't shake off the feeling that something is not okay though, not even in your little dream world. Your senses pick up something...strange and warn you. You cannot put your finger on what it is that disturbs the peaceful atmosphere, sensing is your brother's forte, not yours. You decide to investigate.

On alert, you search the whole place for anything out of order, for some sort of intruder, only to come up with nothing. Then, a little noise, the rustling of a leaf despite there not being a breeze lets you whirl around and take a defensive stance out of reflex. Your mood brightens when you recognize it's just Madara. Maybe that should be a reason to be afraid though, considering your friend's irritable mood during the recent weeks.

"Ah, Madara, I see you came to visit! Would you like some tea or-" Before you can finish the sentence and be a perfect example for the Senju's hospitality, the black-haired man has crossed the distance between you, grabbed the sleeve of your loose-fitting shirt and dragged you inside your home. You know better than to pester him with questions when he's in a mood like this, with his face set in a deep frown and chakra flaring up to the point that it raises the little hairs on the back of your neck, so you let him guide you to your room. He'll talk once he has restored some order in his undoubtedly chaotic thoughts.

Surely enough, once you reach your room where you'll be as safe from prying eyes as you can be while living in such times, Madara immediately launches into his rant. He appears as if he hasn't slept for days. Honestly, he looks like a true madman. "My own clan Hashirama, my own clan calls me such things, but not even to my face, oh no, those cowards can't say all of that to my face! But behind my back! Do they think I've gone deaf too now?!" You let out a sigh and your face falls. It's always about his clan nowadays. You wish you could somehow interfere, but it's _clan business_ and also, your friend doesn't _want your help_.

For a second, Madara whips around and simply stares at you, eyes wide and Sharingan glaring red, the tomoe spinning around the pupil in hypnotizing circles. You recognize your mistake too late and you cannot take it back anymore. You showed "pity". And Madara hates pity.

"Oh fuck it Hashirama, I am done with your bullshit too! You aren't any better than those traitors!" he raves, fists the fabric of your shirt and draws you close so that your faces are inches apart. It's hard not to pity this wreck, because he trembles, he lost any control he might've had over his hair at some point and his breath hitches.  
You have a hard time fearing him like this and it saddens you because, _where has that warrior gone_?

"Stop looking at me like that!" he demands, voice uncharacteristically shrill with desperation and fury, the sound shaking you to the core because this is not Madara it cannot be Madara this just can't be Madara. "Don't look down on me like this!" He probably doesn't believe you when you say you view him as an equal.

Then he crashes your lips together. For some reason, it does not catch you by surprise. You can feel the chapped lips moving against yours almost pleadingly.

How are you supposed to react?! Depending on what you do now, you could bring about a catastrophe. Instinct and the rational part of your brain scream at you to push him away, you don't like him like that and how come you never knew, never knew that Madara, that Madara feels like that- But this is a trembling wreck in your arms that needs love lest you'd want for it to fall apart completely. You were trained to act quickly in tough situations.

So you reluctantly respond to his none too loving kiss. A copper taste mixes into it when he tears the flesh of your lip with his teeth; you make a noise of protest, but still you let him. An impatient tongue laps up the blood from the wound almost as if apologizing for the previous mutilation and you understand that he won't be satisfied with just this little bit, and you simply cannot reject him. So you allow him to slip the appendage into your mouth where you greet it with your own tongue a little less enthusiastically. You don't want to think about how you are kissing the man you call(ed?) your best friend. You could pretend it's the cute red-haired Uzumaki-girl perhaps, although her lips look much softer and would taste sweet...  
No, you decide, and focus on Madara, on Madara and nothing else. It would be demeaning for your friend. He doesn't deserve to be caressed when it's not him that you see. This is for him, and for him alone.

A low growl emits from the back of Madara's throat, his hands on your chest wander over your shoulders and find their way into your long hair. You instinctively pull him a little closer and feel something press against your thigh that tells you that maybe tonight could go very, very wrong. When you two part for a second to catch your breath, you make the mistake of meeting Madara intense gaze, because you can see that he wants this in that pair of red eyes. He wants you, not just consolation or your body; he wants your mind, body, your heart, everything you have to offer and more.

If that is what he needs tonight, you'll give it all to him. You shall not matter.

The Uchiha pulls you in for another painful, violent kiss before either of you has regained your breath properly. He is still furious but he has interesting methods for dealing with his anger.  
His mouth moves away from your lips and places surprisingly soft little kisses all over your face, each butterfly-touch making your stomach churn with guilt as your skin touched by his lips burns. Madara averts his attention to your jaw and your neck and continues his ministrations there, tongue flickering out to lick at sensitive skin. A hiss escapes you, spurring him on and he bites down hard. Fuck. Does he want you to enjoy this now, or does he not? Perhaps he doesn't know it himself.  
You have no idea how you're supposed to excuse these injuries in the morning when you train with Tobirama.

Again your lover for tonight rips you out of your thoughts with a sharp tug at your hair and a far from gentle push towards the bed. You don't defend yourself and simply let your body fall onto the mattress that shrieks underneath your weight. Of course he wastes no time and crawls on top of you, his hand now trailing along your body almost tenderly which only serves to make you feel sick with bad conscience because you don't deserve this treatment from him. The moment is thankfully over quickly and he starts ripping angrily at your shirt to get the thing off as if it personally offended him.

Again you hesitate. But you're not too sure if you really want to put an end to this anymore. You have the self-control to ignore your body's desire and end this right then and there, yet a stubborn part of you tells you, you need to go through with it for his sake.

(For the sake of the village.)

A triumphant smirk settles on Madara's flushed face once he tears your shirt to shreds and he rakes his nails across your exposed chest, eliciting a shiver from you until he presses hard enough to draw blood. This shouldn't feel as good as it does. It's like he's bent on marking you as his. He's carving maps into your skin, planning his next move, oh Madara, ever the strategist.  
Next thing to go are your pants; he hurries so much that he's not going anywhere, hands brushing against your erection (whoa, you can't remember when this happened, but once aware of it, it's _hard_ to ignore) and tearing the fabric, but he just can't get them off with his hasty movements and shaking hands, so you have to assist him, though he tries to slap your helping hand away. Eventually he gives up and ruins yet another piece of garment of yours and removes your underwear.

He takes a moment to eye your bare body, gaze traveling from your face over your torso, your crotch to your feet, more with amazement than lust. As if he can't believe you let him go this far. The Sharingan spins as if he suspects he is caught in a Genjutsu or perhaps he wants to burn this image of you into his memory. (You should be ashamed.)Then he quickly strips himself of his clothes and it's your turn to stare, if for different reasons.

His skin used to be pale but now he has the complexion of a corpse. Two red irises gleam at you through uncombed strands of raven black hair, activated out of excitement, blood red. He's as red and white and thin as the paper fan on the back of his discarded shirt. Does he even eat well enough?

"You're looking at me like that again" he snarls, but apparently he's more inclined to take it as harmless concern and not pity under such circumstances and the blush, oddly misplaced on a face like his, dusting his cheeks intensifies.

Madara leans over you and you attempt to flip your positions, to pin him beneath you out of instinct, but he stubbornly holds against it, viciously digging his nails into your wrists as he puts his whole weight on you to keep you down. You should've known he won't relinquish control, that he couldn't do so even if he might've wanted to. You're doing this for him, so your battle for dominance is more playful than anything, just enough to keep him entertained.

Now that your roles are assigned, he wants to get down to business right away, lifting your legs so that you can wrap them around him. You can stop him just in time and remind him you are no woman, he can't just push in like this, can he? You have never slept with a man before; you wouldn't know.  
He makes a face, contemplates something. He, obviously not trusting you with the task, coats his own fingers in salvia, which will make for a poor lubricant, but it's better than nothing. With a bit of sudden hesitation, he inserts the first finger into your entrance which causes you some discomfort, then he adds a second digit and slowly begins to scissor them with a scowl on his face even though it's you who should make a face like that. The feeling is foreign and it takes you a while to adjust. To make it more bearable he awkwardly pumps your erection a couple of times, distracting you from the stinging pain with waves of pleasure. A bit of pride and a bit of aversion keeps you from shifting your hips for more friction.  
You give a slight nod to signal him that you believe you are ready and he takes that as an invitation to remove his fingers, line up, and thrust into you just like that. You cannot hold back a gasp at the sudden sensation of him stretching you like this and though it hurts, you stubbornly tighten your legs around Madara's body, trying to get him deeper inside; your name laced with an emotion you pretend you can't identify tumbles from his lips at the motion and you don't know if that what settles in your abdomen is guilt or if this is just more blood rushing straight to your groin.

He isn't quite the selfish lover you initially took him for, he tries to ensure you enjoy this just as much as he does, he shifts the angle in which he enters you every once in a while to find the one that's most pleasurable to both of you, even though he is clumsy and doesn't quite know how to do it right. To his defense, you wouldn't really know either. Despite his attempts, you have to will yourself to stay aroused.

It's weird to be taken like this; the whole situation feels too intense and too surreal at the same time. The smell of sweat and sex is thick in the air, and you can distinctly hear him breathe heavily, moan out your name or incoherent fragments of sentences. You can feel your naked skin rubbing against his , the friction causing you to respond in kind to his moans, and you can feel how his hands wander over your body as if they want to touch each last inch of you and how he pulls out just to pound in once again at a desperate pace. Every pant, moan and thrust tells you he has waited for this for far too long and you feel disgusted with yourself all of a sudden.

You understand that you did the wrong thing with the right intentions.

All of those thoughts are thrown out of the window once Madara eventually manages to find the perfect angle. It simply wipes your mind blank and you can't help but let out a noise that would have you blushing thousand shades of red if you were aware enough for that. The Uchiha above you pauses for a moment, a whine tries to escape you, and through hazy vision you can see he's staring somewhat disbelievingly at you. After that moment he grips your hips, steadies himself and slowly slips inside again, carefully, just to hit that spot again and captures your lips in a passionate kiss to swallow whatever noise you were about to let loose. He quickens the pace again, but he's much surer of himself now and you feel you'll lose your mind if he keeps hitting that spot.

Your climax is approaching fast, a tight knot of pleasure coils in your abdomen. But he comes before you with a hoarse shout that rings in your ears, pulls out and collapses on top of you, head next to yours and turned just so that his breath tickles on the tingling skin of your neck where he has left marks of his feelings. "Hn...?" he mumbles when he feels that you aren't quite there yet and struggles to push himself up on his elbows. "I can take care of it" you assure him, but you apparently didn't sound very convincing with your voice being so strained, because he still reaches down to your cock and gives it an almost experimental squeeze. Now with the desperate need gone he takes his time stroking you to completion, the sadist, and eventually he grants you sweet, sweet release which you reach with a drawn-out groan.

Once you come down from your high, you find Madara still hovering above you with an expectant expression on his corpse-face. He searches your face for any sign that you return his affections, that you wanted this as much as he did. But now he sees that you cannot give him what he truly wants, and he masks his disappointment well behind that impassive expression he wears by default. You sense it though. He came here a wreck and you threw the shambles into a fire.

He rolls onto his side facing away from you and curls up, dark hair fanning over your pillow. You wait for his breaths to slow, however suddenly Madara gets up. Wordlessly he picks up the articles of clothing he threw to the ground and dresses. "Madara?" you call, your voice sounding nothing like you, as he heads for the door. He pretends to not have heard you and leaves, movements not as graceful as usual, but slow and tired. It shouldn't take long for you to fall asleep due to the natural post-coital drowsiness, yet you lie awake for hours and wonder what the hell you were thinking.

The next morning after a bit restless sleep, bile rises up in your throat at the memory of the night shared, not because of what happened but because you let it happen and you are disgusted with yourself.  
You have to set things right, now.  
He must think you used him, too. Like everybody else has done. Everyone just uses Madara.

When you meet him though, you don't say a word. You can't. They die in your throat and Madara smirks bitterly, as if he knew you'd be too weak to address it.

In the following weeks Madara does not avoid you. There is something distinctly different about your conversations though, the way he speaks is oddly cold and distant, he does not pick up on your attempts to tease him and fall back into your old pattern, and sometimes you have to repeat yourself because he did not hear what you said the first time as he was staring off into nothingness.

Over the course of time his dull gaze hardens again and the air around him is filled with tension wherever he walks. The nature of your conversations takes a turn for the worse and his words drip with venom.

And then he's gone.


End file.
